


One of Those Days

by ATantrum



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: F/M, Fluff (if you squint), Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23628106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ATantrum/pseuds/ATantrum
Summary: Everybody has them. Even the champions.
Relationships: Yuzuru Hanyu/Evgenia Medvedeva
Comments: 44
Kudos: 83





	1. Chapter 1

His fist crashed into the white concrete of the corridor wall, and he hit it again, channeling his frustration. _Shimatta_. Nothing, literally nothing was right. Even the throbbing pain in his hand didn’t make him feel better. For a moment, Yuzu thought about kicking the wall for a good measure.

“Ankle injury alert,” said a helpful voice to his right. Of course. She. Of all people. It was one of those days.

He swirled to face Evgenia with the darkest frown he could muster, exuding danger from every pore, and spat out, “Don’t.”

The girl seemed unimpressed by his demon slayer impersonation, one hand on the hip, the other casually clutching the strap of her backpack.

“Why would I pity you? You’re not a sick puppy,” she scoffed and reached out for his sore hand. 

Although he swerved in indignation, Zhenya took a step forward, clutched on his glove with both hands and peeled off the soft fabric. It looked okay, considering. Light swelling. A couple of angry red scabs. A little blood, too. Assessing the damage, she ran her cool fingers along the ridge of his knuckles twice and sighed. Suddenly, Yuzu felt embarrassed by his outburst.

“Do you have water?” he asked, withdrawing his hand from hers firmly, with a finality.

“Sure.” She absent-mindedly placed his blood-stained glove into his coat pocket and turned away to sort through the contents of her bag on the floor. The bottle she gave him was unopened, a courteous gesture. He unscrewed the cap, wincing at the slight shift in the broken skin, and downed the water in three gulps.

Somewhere between his attempts at finding self-composure Zhenya found a first aid kit. When taking back the bottle, she snatched his injured hand again, cradled it and started applying bandages. It was not romantic, not by any stretch. But it was comforting, being cared for by a comrade-in-arms. A very professional one. And very good-looking. And…

“Here you are.” Zhenya gave her work the last once-over and let go, both of his hand and the whole experience. She would never mention it again, he knew. Yuzu also knew he should say thank you. But when he opened his mouth, a different thing came out.

“You forgot to kiss it better.” It was one of _those_ days. 

Her already large expressive eyes grew huge, and after a few awkward moments, Zhenya laughed it off, “Not going to happen, Hanyu. My kisses are reserved for special occasions. Special people, too.”

That meant he wasn't on the list. Currently.

“But I might give you a friend’s hug. That is, if ever you needed one,” she added solemnly and turned to go.

“Now,” he said simply, taking her up on the offer.

“Now?” she asked, conveying, with a series of jazz hands and an incredulous look, that they were standing in a brightly lit, albeit temporarily empty corridor.

He then promptly flipped the switch on the wall. The space around them turned darker, more intimate. 

She could just go. In fact, it would be better for both of them if she did. 

Instead, she humphed, stood on tiptoe and put both of her arms around his upper back, one above the other, a nice warm grounding embrace. He followed suit - and if his bandaged hand sneaked under her jacket and brushed against skin uncovered by her crop top, so what? It was not disrespectful, and she didn’t say anything. He knew he could rest his head on her shoulder for a bit too - and he did. A few moments of calm before going back into the battle with himself.

“So, what is it about today?” Zhenya’s voice rumbled in his ear. “The lutz? The loop? Life in general?” He didn’t answer. There was no need. She always got it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this little piece will make you feel some good feels! 
> 
> I'll be glad to know what you think of it too! (Comments are the grease on a creator's brain wheels, you know.)
> 
> A quick update for those who saw the previous version of the End Notes - it's a five-chapter story (so far), and I'm writing it.


	2. Chapter 2

It was one of those days she wished she could make a living out of beauty blogging. A week before a competition meant double daily run-throughs, a sorely aching body and a no-makeup, sweat-streaked face.

Making her way from the club to the bus stop - slowly, heavily - Zhenya remembered heaviness of another kind. A gold medal pulling on her neck. She actually got it last time, a proper Grand Prix win, to everyone’s surprise. In both segments, her scores weren’t that great - but the favorites weren’t that good either. Standing on the top of the podium, singing the national anthem, she bit back tears, flooded with memories of happy times gone, chances lost, friendships dissolved - heavy, heavy feelings…

Then, at the gala, Yuzu grabbed her hand for the bows. She dug a nail into his thumb, a quick reminder that as Evgenia Medvedeva, she was off-limits to him. Instead of letting go, he laced their fingers together, strengthening the hold. Was it to troll people filming them from every possible angle on 4x zoom? Was it to show support? Was it because he was post-competition high, higher than a kid on a kilo of candy, and simply didn’t care? Who knew. But when Yuzu was in his unstoppable mode, you could only play along.

After the bows came the hand waves, and they separated. She made sure to put at least six people between them on the final lap - for damage control. They bookended all group photos, even those taken by their clubmates - by carefully planned accident. She even flirted outrageously through the banquet with each and every unattached male except Yuzu - just in case. But truth to be told, her hand still tingled with that ghost imprint of his touch. 

It did. Even now.

 _“Aren’t you over that nonsense, Zhenya?”_ her inner voice demanded grumpily.

“I am, one hundred percent”, she told herself firmly, hitting the rail of the bus stop with a fist for emphasis. “I am a professional, independent, self-sufficient woman and I don’t pine after boys. Besides, there will be other boys. Plenty of them. After I retire.”

Zhenya sighed and looked up - straight into the dark eyes of the boy she didn’t pine for. 

But of course. The ad. His fans bought out the space and put in a new support poster every once in a while. This one was a beautiful watercolor portrait.

She _was_ over that. She _was_ over him. They were just friends, coworkers - with nicely delineated personal boundaries. And she was actually very lucky to keep that relationship - thanks to Brian who taught her a Yuzu 101 crash course, and to Tracy who filed off the rough edges of their stilted interactions during the first few months. There _were_ plenty of other boys who could fill this longing in her heart, potentially. Many tried.

It just was one of those days. She was just feeling nostalgic, about being a younger girl. Younger girls tend to like older tall handsome men. And hand-holding and kisses in their stories.

On an impulse, Zhenya traced the delicately painted face with the tips of her fingers. To think that this guy was an actual paid beauty blogger of international fame - with all of his three or four blog posts _in_ _Japanese_! Oh, the irony. She needed to do better in life. And maybe finish the Origin 2.0 sketch that has been in her tablet forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of introspection this time, which will sort of come into play in later chapters. 
> 
> I hope you're all doing well, wherever you are, staying safe and optimistic! 
> 
> By the way, writing is a valid quarantine-coping mechanism. Try it if you can. :)


	3. Chapter 3

If he could smile any wider, his face would split in half. It was one of those rarest days when it all came together - the glide of the blade, the jumps, the music, the energy of the rink - everything. His heart soared during this performance, and people got on their feet long before it was over, mesmerized by the magical moment they witnessed. 

He slayed his public interview with the winner too, casually slipping a quirky Russian folk saying in his speech. It was Zhenya who insisted that he should add it for the sake of the Moscow audience and mercilessly drilled him in the proper pronunciation. “I may not win there, you know,” Yuzu said grimly after. She rolled her eyes at him, not unkindly, “Just see that you do.”

The crowd roared at the joke and gave their beloved champion yet another deafening round of applause. In the midst of it, Yuzu glanced across the rink to the box where the commentators were seated. It was her debut today. What did she have to say about his skate? He needed to know the exact words and the exact meaning behind them, not some googlified Russian-English-Japanese interpretation. Was there any way to get that?

For now, it was his turn to try and talk in several languages before the media in the mixed zone. Happiness helped. He really was very happy. 

Making his way through the corridor, he spotted a group of his most ardent Russian fans at the exit - journalists, officials, and coaches. A series of hugs, handshakes, and selfies followed. As per tradition, Tatiana-san swept her adopted Japanese grandson into a bear hug and smooched his face with gusto. Still tucked up in her arms, Yuzu looked up and saw Zhenya standing at a polite distance. Frowning at him. He frowned back, not understanding. When the company dispersed, with a slight jerk of her head, she indicated that he should follow her. 

“I am late for the presscon,” Yuzu said to her suit-clad back when they made their way to a small side office, obviously allotted for commentators. “Will only take a moment,” Zhenya answered - and then her phone went off, and she took the call.

A burly man in a red scarf was just leaving the room and them alone in it but stopped to give him another “Yuzuru, you were awesome!” Actually, he was. But instead of basking in this victory and sharing his thoughts and emotions with the adoring audience, he stood before a frowning, oblivious girl still holding the phone to her ear. This conversation had to be awfully important. It was also one-sided and long, and she didn’t seem to want to wrap it up any time soon.

Fueled by a bout of irritation, Yuzu turned on his heel to head out. But Zhenya swiftly grabbed his arm, made some big eyes at him and tapped her cheek with a finger. 

Ah.  _ Ah _ . She wanted a token of appreciation for her help - or maybe for the complimentary recount of his record-breaking free (it  _ had to _ be complimentary, hadn’t it?). That he could do. Gladly.

With a slight smirk, Yuzu leaned down and kissed her on the suggested spot - a grown-up, classy, intentional kiss. His lips lingered a fraction, enjoying her smallest gasp and the sensation of doing something formerly forbidden, unthinkable. He even went so bold as to put a hand on her shoulder for balance and smile into her skin. And then Zhenya’s phone dropped to the ground with a thud.

She stared at him, flushed and a bit flustered. He stared back, very pleased with himself. None of them was really breathing. It was one of those moments that lasted a day. A day and a half later, she blinked, bent down to scoop her phone and wordlessly hung up.

“That would be vice president of my federation,” Zhenya provided, looking resolutely at the swirls of sparkling beads around his neckline. “With some notes about my performance… and everything else.” 

With a sigh, she took him by the elbow and turned them both towards a small mirror on the wall. “What I meant to say, Yuzu,  _ back then,  _ is that you have lots of lipstick on your face.” 

There was indeed a large fuchsia lip print atop his left cheekbone.

“Wouldn’t look good in photos,” he admitted - mostly because he wasn’t about to admit anything else at the moment. Misapprehension especially.

“Clashes with your coloring,” she nodded and threw a handkerchief at his chest, which he caught. “I’ll tell the host you’ll be with them in a minute. You know what to do.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Javiiiii”, Zhenya threw herself into the Spaniard’s arms. As they exchanged cheek kisses, his hands wandered down her backside until she giggled, and he finished with a flourish by kissing her on the nose, “It’s been too long.”

They were doing a low-key ice show in Madrid to help raise money for European rinks half-demolished by the pandemic - a bunch of local star skaters and two special guests from Toronto. No pay, no fancy decorations, no famous singers or a corp de ballet - this time, the athletes meant not to provide entertainment but to instill hope in people with their art. 

And it felt so good seeing them all strong, healthy and smiling - up close, in real-time. To link arms with Carolina, to have her hands kissed by Stéphane. Even Shoma waved at her enthusiastically. The only person who ignored her v-sign greeting was Yuzu. He seemed checked out. Or tired. Or, judging by the way he stormed out of the room the minute the orientation session was over, annoyed.

Well, they were heading into the mid-season finale, and losing even a few days of training would be a great sacrifice on the part of any active competitor, let alone Yuzu, she rationalized. Even with the unlimited ice time arranged for by the organizers, it was not like they could do run-throughs or smooth out the kinks of their jumps there. Maybe it was one of those days when he was annoyed at things not going the way he wanted them to. Maybe he was annoyed by the Spanish concept of punctuality - so far, every meal and every meeting started at least 40 minutes behind the scheduled time. 

Or maybe he was just annoyed with  _ her. _ All her attempts to catch his eye or ask a question produced a silent glare, followed by a huff and a swift getaway.  _ Well. _ He annoyed her too. On almost a daily basis. Whenever she came upon his flawless photos in her feeds. Whenever he said something profound in his interviews. Whenever he skated - with easy, lazy perfection of a person born to do just that.

To be honest, Zhenya liked the imperfect Yuzu more. Through the cracks in his role-model persona, she could see a smart sensitive young man with a kind heart and a weird sense of humor, just her type. So, if he wanted to be an idiot and speed across the rink at 10 miles per hour, quadding like there was no tomorrow, she would let him. It was time for a break anyway.

Javi joined her at the boards and stole a few swigs from her cute water bottle. A minute later, a thunderous-looking Yuzu stopped right in the space between them, took out a tissue, blew his nose and dashed back before the pair of them could in any way react to this appearance.

“What’s wrong with him?” Zhenya asked curiously. 

“Looks like jealousy to me,” Javi shrugged. 

“Then take him out to dinner, catch up,” she urged. “Or whatever it is you usually do.”

“Maybe he’s not jealous of  _ me, _ baby girl.” Javi’s tone was neutral, but his eyes twinkled teasingly. 

“I give him enough attention at Cricket.” Mostly grief, but that should count as attention too.

“It’s a good thing that I retired.  _ I _ won’t be able to train with you every day and not get distracted,” he smiled.

“Javi…” she drawled with a mixture of displeasure and embarrassment. 

Javier put an arm around her waist and kissed her forehead, “All in good fun, Zhenya. You know I love you like a sister. My little brother out there, though…”

“Is gearing up for another unnecessary quad,” she finished the phrase and bumped her friend’s shoulder. “Go. Fix him. I’ll finish my session when everyone’s at lunch.”

Just a few minutes after, the two male skaters started a stroking exercise - challenging each other, showing off, but mostly syncing up. After they exchanged some more words and a couple of laughs, Yuzu’s posture visibly relaxed, and the challenging aspect sped up. Zhenya sighed and took out her phone to discreetly film a bit of that for Tracy. The movement they created together was beautiful, mesmerizing, like the waves of a stormy ocean. 

Suddenly, the camera view filled with a flash of a black T-shirt. She quickly put the phone down on the boards and informed the wearer in her most soothing diplomatic tone, “I wasn’t streaming, or publishing photos, or anything. Just for me.” 

He then seized her by the hand, thumb pressing into the arch of her palm possessively and skated back to Javi with her in tow. “You’re doing it with us,” Yuzu declared, their hands still conjoined.

She shook her head, “It’s  _ your _ thing - yours and his. I don’t want to-” 

He cut her off, “You know the steps. So it’s  _ our _ thing now. Let’s go.”


	5. Chapter 5

As soon as he stumbled into the common room of the club, the small knot of senior skaters lounging there threw their arms out in the air all at once, mimicking the iconic ending pose of SEIMEI. Dorks. “I have a different program this year,” Yuzu informed them coolly, trying hard to look unimpressed with all the heart eyes, supportive grins, and vigorous clapping. 

He was hot and haggard, a damp towel around his neck. They just finished an arduous simulation, during which the same group of peers had been whistling, shouting, and booing at him to test his focus. This particular event had some highlights, like Katya screaming “Marry me, Yuzu!” at the top of her lungs during the first few gentle notes of his short, or the pooh-rain of exactly one Pooh hitting the back of his head - Tracy had a mean aim. 

“Your new program is beauuuuuutiful,” assured Jun. He and Zhenya were sitting on a desk with Jason standing beside them. If not for the girl in the middle, Yuzu would certainly join the cuddle-up. Now he had to content himself by dragging a chair close and putting one elbow on the edge of the same table.

A companionable silence ensued, as Yuzu mentally nitpicked at his performance and Zhenya drowsed on Jun’s shoulder. Jason clicked through his messages. “I think we’ve all been amazing and beautiful, and we deserve to celebrate that,” he announced at last, stretching up. “Let’s go have dinner.”

“I’m starving. Need food,” Jun agreed immediately. 

Zhenya opened her eyes and scanned the only renowned hermit in their company with a mind-reading look. Well, his thoughts on the subject were easy to guess: a solid “no” even on better days and certainly not today. Though he wasn’t too keen on going home just yet.

“Let’s get takeout and celebrate here,” Zhenya suggested. “I’m not suitable to be seen by normal people.”

“Ramen?” Jun’s eyes lit up.

“Ice-cream,” Zhenya said dreamily. “Though I just want it, I can’t eat it.”

“I’m not hungry,” Yuzu shrugged. “Maybe small fries.”

“So, whatever is closest, open - and takes orders to-go online,” Jason concluded, fishing car keys out of his pocket. “All right.”

“I would go with you, if I wasn’t busy summoning up the strength to, you know, get up and change out of my costume.” Zhenya buried her nose in his back apologetically.

“I’ll take Junie. You take care.”

Yuzu waited until the steps and the conversation in the corridor subsided and rose to his sore feet. She and him, they were almost the same height like this. “Tables are not for sitting”.

“It’s a bad Russian habit, and I always got scolded for it at school,” Zhenya smiled.

He slithered forward like a cat, and his hand shot out unbidden to pat her on the head, “Good job on that skate.” She snatched up his wrist weakly, “I’m not a kid anymore.” “Still a  _ kouhai _ ,” he pointed, and the hold relaxed, allowing him to ruffle her hair gently for a moment. “It’s sweaty,” Zhenya complained but didn’t lean out of his touch. 

It wasn’t the first time he wondered what it would be like to kiss her - one of those times. Maybe it had something to do with the thrill and electricity of the almost competition still coursing through his veins. Or maybe this kiss was just bound to happen one day - with all their history and the mounting tension in the present. 

_ Was today the day? _

Yuzu had played it all out in his mind before, with numerous variables. But in those calculations, the girl in question was never that sleepy, distracted, and therefore relaxed in his presence. The far-off wish was rapidly turning into an enticing opportunity, a clear desire, and a set goal. She was so real when her guard was low. His favorite living breathing piece of reality...

“That’s  _ so _ unfair,” Zhenya whined cutely. “My layout is nothing compared to yours - and yet I’m so dead at the end of the program, literally dead. I mean, it was okay, I didn’t make mistakes - aside from that last spin, but my stamina is abysmal. Sometimes I wonder why I even try-” 

He pressed a finger to her lips playfully to silence this little rant, “Shhh. Don’t…” Three simple steps from here: replace the index finger with a thumb to get rid of the lipstick. Lean forward. Replace the fingers with his own mouth. Real easy. 

Yuzu shook off the too-vivid image and tried to remember English, “Don’t diminish yourself. The girls are just wired differently.” 

Zhenya chuckled, “Oh, the things I could tell you about  _ that!” _

Then she glanced at him in confusion. When it finally dawned on her how uncharacteristically close they were, his palm sprung to action, cradling her jaw, caressing her mouth. Her pulse quickened, beating wildly. She sucked in a long breath, and he did lean forward to share it.

“Wait.”

Yuzu paused to listen to the commotion outside. There was none. He raised his eyes to gaze into Zhenya’s, questioning her reaction. But though she was looking at him with equal intensity, this look held some inner debate, some internal struggle he was not privy to. She bit her lower lip - because her lips were trembling. And so he waited, his own doubts creeping in more and more. At last, Zhenya shut her eyes tight, giving in.  _ This was the day. _

As if on cue in a bad drama, the side door of the room opened. He dropped his hand, hiding the bright red spots of makeup on his fingers -  _ her mark -  _ in the folds of his jacket. She slid from the desk in one swift motion to greet their friends with a fake smile. 

“What did you get?”

“We settled on pizza, with lots of cheese,” Jason was bringing in a stack of two boxes, while Jun secured the door for him with an elbow.

“Totally approve.” Zhenya excused herself, claiming it was finally time to rest her gorgeous performance dress in a garment bag and don the more comfortable top and pants for the impromptu party. 

Yuzu gave her a thirty seconds’ headstart. Then he chased after his goal along the darkened corridors of the rink. 

Her pace was brisk, almost running. They came alongside only in the locker area, where Zhenya hastily turned the key in the lock of the girls’ room.

“Wait,” he called out, imbuing this simple word with all his hope and longing.

She turned on the doorstep, illuminated from the back by yellowish lightning, her face empty, sad. Then she slightly shook her head and disappeared inside. The door shut softly, leaving him alone in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand suddenly it was not fun anymore. :) 
> 
> I'm sorry to leave it on such a note... given that it will be a long wait for the last two chapters, a couple of weeks at least - life has caught up with me. 
> 
> Best wishes of health and happiness to those who read this story. Remember that I enjoy hearing your thoughts on it, even if I'm not prompt with the answers. Stay safe, everyone!


	6. Chapter 6

“Queen in hiding,” - that’s what they called Medo-chan on the Internet now, according to her agent. No posts, no likes, no interviews, or mentions, nothing at all for almost three months. A silence her fans - and her haters - didn’t particularly appreciate. The agent was distraught, but the talent was uncompromising.

“Evgenia is happy to make the team, and she’s working hard to prepare for her next competition. That’s all you may say,” she instructed everyone and their dog whenever the question came up - or could come up potentially.

She had another set phrase going, “I’d love to hang out, but I trained very hard today, and my body needs to recover.”

These two were her face-savers. But Brian Orser could take the temperature of every skater at his club in about five minutes just by looking at them from his office window. And she spent most of the session circling. Not jumping, not spinning - not doing anything at all, just mindlessly going around the rink like a carousel horse. Was the third session like this on his watch, in a row.

Zhenya was sitting on the bench outside TCC pondering dumbly whether to dial a Uber or try to make it to the bus on foot when her coach casually joined her.

“Talk to me,” he said.

“What can I say?” she shrugged.

“The truth, as always. Even if I won’t like it.”

“The truth… the truth is, I just don’t want to skate anymore.” Her voice was eerily steady, grown-up. “I’m done.”

He nodded, inviting her to elaborate. But that was it. That was the problem. Not the lack of confidence. Not a bout of winter depression. She just knew. Knew that she hit her ceiling, splashed all of her on the ice, and there was nothing left inside - no dreams, no hopes, no source to draw from. Even music didn’t seem to move her anymore.

Brian waited for another minute or two. Zhenya stared at the ground. He wouldn’t understand, would he? A caprice, a girl’s folly, laziness, or attention-seeking - those were much more believable than what she offered.

“Would you like me to tell what I think?” he asked finally. The kindness in his voice was a beacon that made her look up. “Please.” 

“Everyone goes through this. I did, Elvis did - ask any skater who has had a long career, this state, this feeling is part of the deal. You lose your love. And then you rediscover it, reignite the fire. Or you move on and fall in love with something else. It happens, it’s normal, it’s actually very important. It’s just your timing… is not ideal,” he admitted. “But I also want you to know something you  _ don’t _ want to hear, especially from me. You can take a break at any time. You can miss this competition. It is an option.”

“Why, Brian? Why would I? There’s no excuse, I am not even injured!” 

He absorbed the impact of her anger with the same patience, balancing them out. His reply was careful, neutral.

“Well, you see, Zhenya, people around… They may have great expectations of you, some interests of their own, monetary investments even... But my priority is your health. Your well-being.”

That was “I love you”, in Canadian. 

She blinked a sudden stinging tear, caught up in a flash of a similar memory with a drastically different result.

“I can’t make any decisions for you, but I will support them. Anything. Just tell me. As of now, though... you say you don’t want to skate - and that’s totally fine. But are you willing to try and push through this? Just because we’ve come a long way... and you deserve to be there, at the top?”

After a long pause, Zhenya nodded, the muscles in her neck firm and unmoving, and whispered, “But what are we going to do?”

Brian gave her a little encouraging smile.  _ "We _ are going to be very smart.”

He put her on the Yuzu protocol, basically. The only thing she had to do was show up and stick to the training plan. Through pain, through nausea, through the sinking feeling of dread in her stomach, she was putting in hour after hour, day after day, harnessing her posture, mortifying her will. She was so wiped out in the evening, having to make this double effort, that she really had no energy for TV or crafts, and sleep came heavily like a landslide, sometimes even between the classes.

There was also a strict “no phone” policy in place. She gave the technology up altogether and had to ask other people to make urgent calls for her. Jun was the most willing personal assistant. And Jason took it upon himself to drive her to the club and back home like some fancy hired chauffeur. They never discussed it. He just showed up each morning, unfailingly. Another “Love you”, of sorts.

The only person who dared talk to her “about feelings” was, naturally, Katya. Their paths crossed at the cafeteria where she methodically stocked on calories and fluids, not caring what shape they were in. The tiny blonde girl slid a dark chocolate candy across the table to her plate. Zhenya managed a half-smile and hid the bribe in her bag. She already had a whole drawer of those at home.

“Can I ask you a question?” Katya proceeded cautiously.

“Sure.”

“Do you get hurt… by things they post about you?”

She laughed a little, a short spurt of frustration. “When I was sixteen, there was already a YouTube channel dedicated to my lutz edge. It’s hard to surprise me with what people would judge me on. The topics are endless.”

“But the words… they hurt anyway, even now, don’t they?” 

A strict inner voice told Zhenya to cut this conversation short and excuse herself, not to engage in the draining drama. But the look in Katya’s eyes wasn’t prying or idly curious. It was sad. Ah, yes. People didn’t post shit about her royal majesty only. No-one was immune, or sacred, or protected from bullying.

“Hurt isn’t the worst part of it,” she signed and patted the younger skater’s hand. “The worst part is that little by little you become distrustful of people in general. And wary of making new friends or even keeping old ones - so they wouldn’t get hurt too. At times, these thoughts become very strong - but you fight them. Friends are always worth fighting for.” 

_ Even if you don’t win. _

It started at the Nationals, this grey listless existence she had been stuck in until now. On one of those nightmarish days that wouldn’t end at sunset. It was a stupid notion that you had to show your mightiest in a remote Krasnoyarsk or Saratov and that this overwhelming pressure and adrenaline the hosts insisted upon somehow made you a better athlete or performer. In fact, her best year internationally happened when she was comfortable and certain of her team. But there was no use telling her superiors that. So, Zhenya learned how to flip the switch, get into a berserk mode and deliver, daring the judges to leave her behind.

She delivered. She brought the house down. It took them seven full minutes to calculate her score - a valid one for a change. 

But sitting in the Kiss & Cry corner among the cheerful spruce decorations, she didn't feel happy, or content - or anything at all. Luckily, Tracy was ecstatic for them both, and Zhenya fed off her enthusiasm, managing a smile, and a wave, and a bow. But ever since that day, she was empty. Cold and empty. Unfeeling. Nothing had grown in her heart, no matter how much time and space she gave to its burnt-over earth. Not a leaf. Not a petal. 

So she went into hiding. Ironically, her hiding place today was a yellow Olympic ring on a large concrete installation. They were to compete at a former Olympic rink. The rink was in an Olympic park. And being alone in the park was better than in a room with a chatty neighbor.

A familiar voice cut through the noise-canceling in her earbuds. "Don't sit on cold things." 

Zhenya froze. Did the Japanese nation share the superstition about girls, chilled surfaces, and fertility with her Russian grandma? She was kind of cold though, judging by the bluish tint around her fingernails. She went outside at the first light of dawn, gloveless, and had been here for a while. 

Yuzu motioned at her to come down. A million of whys. Why was he here so early? Why on his own? Why the sudden interest in her body temperature? Slightly annoyed, Zhenya jumped from her improvised seat with an awkward landing.

He cringed, “Are you crazy? What if you broke your leg? Do you like skating on painkillers?” She just stared back, not quite believing.  _ What did he care? _

He took her elbow and pulled her in the direction of the rounded building at the far end of the park.

“To the training rink. Now.”

She shrugged out of his grip, even more stupefied by the notion that he would actually accompany her there. Maybe he forgot. Again.

“Zhenya show is not on for another forty minutes.” she pointed. Of course, Yuzu show was on from the second his plane landed at the airport. But men’s official practice was in the afternoon. Why wasn’t he elsewhere, enjoying his quiet time?

He measured her with another hard, angry look, which produced a faint sense of guilt. Zhenya didn’t know if she regretted the sheer lunacy of their almost-kiss, but she surely paid the consequences. Curt bows. The absence of conversation. It was inevitable though. A person who hated losing would certainly deal with rejection badly.

Now after a few months of mutual ignoring, they were suddenly having a standoff not two meters apart. His dark eyes were blazing, hot energy coming off his body in waves. He looked thinner, poised, ready to pounce. So unlike her, vague and distracted, and tired. 

This would be a huge blow to her psychological budget. An expense she could not afford. She needed it to start prepping herself for another public appearance. But she also had to try to mend them. Had to.

“Want to take a walk?”

Yuzu started but nodded, and they began to stroll down one of the stony paths adorned by tall regal trees. Zhenya racked her brain for a safe topic. Something skating-related. But not really. 

“This is actually my fourth favorite training rink. Like, Gangneung, my home rink at Sambo, the one we had at Shanghai Trophy, then this one... What’s yours?” she finished lamely.

“Cricket.” Figures. There was no further development in this discussion. Zhenya decided on a second attempt. Taking out the headphones, her better ones, not the lowly AirPods he was sure to despise, she handed them to the expert for an examination.

“What do you think?”

He held the gadget briefly by the cord as if it was a dead mouse and gave a quick verdict.

“I’ll buy you a normal pair.”

“No, you will not,” she huffed. “But you may recommend me something. Something that doesn’t cost like a yacht.”

Yuzu ignored the comment. They went on walking in silence, which was becoming oppressive. After a few more steps, Zhenya gave up. 

“Your turn to talk about something.”

“How about we talk about what's wrong with you?”

It wasn’t a biting remark, only so very unlike him - with his stance on privacy, and boundaries, and stuff. He just called her “wrong” - and that brought out a sting of tears that would have to wait until she was locked in her Toronto apartment. She might give him yet another face-saving cookie-cutter reason. But it was Yuzu. He could handle the truth.

They stopped opposite each other, and Zhenya opened her mouth to explain, eyes hovering at his chest level. It was... difficult. Like breaking up. But when she found it in herself to meet his gaze, she realized that he already knew.

"No."

"No?" she repeated, confused. Had he asked Brian what her deal was? Or had he guessed? 

"You cannot not skate," he stated simply. "That's who we are.” 

She balked at the "we". "You, maybe. Me, I can do plenty of other things.”

“We skate because we are meant to. We create beauty in the world that is ugly and in despair. Give ourselves to other people in this way. So they would feel something."

“Skating is not the  _ only  _ way, Yuzu.”

He didn’t protest to that stubborn statement. Just looked on. And she remembered hunger. All those months without the ice, when she was injured or quarantined, she was hungry for freedom, for flying, for flowing her essence into the shapes created by music. It was pure physical suffering being on land. But...

“I see that you don’t have the right attitude for competing. But you can borrow mine.” 

“No,” she smiled, shaking her head. “You’ll need that more.”

“I have too much,” he confessed, placing her hand on his chest, right above his heart. The world stopped spinning. Everything stopped to a halt. It was not until she felt a burn in her lungs that she remembered to get some oxygen in them.  _ Breathe, Zhenya, he doesn’t mean it. _

“So, here’s a link. You picture a flow of mental energy and sort of download it.” 

“Can I download one of your triple axels too?” she joked, and they both chuckled, the wall between them crumbling a little.

_ He invented this strange silly game just for you, you know. Aren’t you flattered? Is it his way to say… No, don’t get ahead of yourself. Just friends. _

Zhenya closed her eyes, trying to decipher the steady heartbeat under his sports jacket. Her fingers curled into the sleek fabric. A wave of warmth washed over her, easing the high-strung nerves one by one. Was this really working? 

She signed and reached for Yuzu’s right hand to put it onto her left shoulder, forming a lopsided quasi-embrace. “If you need some calm, “screw-it-all” and “why-bother” in your system, help yourself”, she murmured. “Those I’ve got in spades.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I nearly died writing this much in one sitting. Hope you like it. <3


	7. Chapter 7

One of the best ways to stay off-camera was to stand right behind it. And Yuzu had built such a good rapport with TV crews over the years that they let him in the equipment zone wordlessly - just another non-descript male in a black hoodie. 

He knew Zhenya was going to have her moment that day - and he came to see it. She took her spot in the middle of the rink, taut like a live wire, and, all of a sudden, winked at the operator filming a close-up, her focused face lit up with a confident smile. There was a whole halo of confidence around her.

He didn’t bother to find out how she did in the short. A meeting in the park was all the distraction Yuzu could afford given his standing and his condition - maybe a little more than he planned. Following that, he shut down every unauthorized thought and fully concentrated on his own process. But the ever-omniscient Tracy sent him a little note via the hotel concierge. It read, “Your magic worked”, and so he knew.

At his first Worlds under Brian, Yuzu finished off the podium. After earning bronze the previous year, this was a tragedy equalling that of Romeo. He cried. He despaired. He felt like he had shamed his nation. The media was criticizing his every step and questioning every decision. The sound of booing the Japanese audience gave him when he won his first Nationals over Daisuke-san rang in his ears. 

It was also Tracy who sat him down and explained him to himself.

“You are a sensitive soul, Yuzu. You respond to things very deeply - both good and bad. Your highs will always be very high, and your lows will be very low. But this is what makes you an artist.” 

Over the years, he learned to reach the highs and control the lows. Most of all, he knew how one state transformed into another, how the deepest dark could beget the brightest stars. And Zhenya was like him - an artist.

He didn’t hear the first notes of her piece but rather saw them - in the delicate quaver of her fingers, in the rise and fall of her chest, in the languid turn of her neck. Zhenya was singing the melody with her body. And she enjoyed every second of it, a soft smile embedded in her features.

She leapt into the air with joy, hit each accent just so, weaved into the secondary tunes and held them in the lines of her exquisite posture. Through hours of relentless, mind-numbing work, she perfected the form of the program - and now it was time to fill it with meaning, passion. A meticulous eye would notice some technical flaws, but such was the power of inspiration that she could easily add some new steps or turns on the fly to cover for an imprecise takeoff or an iffy landing. Freedom and control in perfect harmony. That almost never happened.

She gained speed during her last combination spin, adding two additional turns to finish exactly with the music. With the final chord, Zhenya closed her eyes for a second, oblivious to the ear-splitting applause and the shower of gifts, and bowed her head to the ice. 

Yuzu bowed his head to her in respect - and disappeared backstage. 

This was what skating was about. Chasing after one short-lived glorious moment. Of course, he always chased after it all - a moment, a medal, a record, but usually when he got his moment, he got everything else, as an added value. 

Everything but the girl. She should not have been on this list of things he wanted. Those were attainable. Zhenya was not.

She couldn't care less about his social position or his money. She admired his talent - but she admired everyone's talent, and gave praise, and cheered for everyone, making it a point to congratulate peers who had done well or openly support those who struggled. 

As for his fame, she showed a lot of empathy. But fame was by no means a selling point - rather an anchor weighing down on their relationship. 

When his federation insisted that their super-star athlete should get an online presence, Yuzu tried to pick Zhenya’s brain about it. She waved him off. 

“You grew up at a different time, best not to start this now. It's not your thing, anyway.” 

“But it’s yours somehow?” he retorted with a hint of jealousy.

“Well, I'm more sociable than you are, and I mostly use this technology to stay in touch with a bunch of people simultaneously. Speak for them if I can, share good feelings.” 

"But why don't you do so via a private page, and have a public one for official interactions?"

She scrunched her nose, "I don't want to have a public persona. I just want to be myself. Old little me, as long as I can." 

It was a vulnerable position, there was a price to pay, and Zhenya had fought for the right to promote and express herself as she deemed fit for years. She struggled but hardly ever complained. Yuzu knew now that he could never handle it.

When the Internet and press alike blew up over her 2018 coaching change, even he was affected, personally and emotionally, and was forced to make a statement drawing a solid line between them.

She didn't say anything until much later, when this line sufficiently blurred.

“I understand that you had to spell it out for the stupid people in the back. But your word choice! You could say we were just friends or colleagues. Claiming that you belonged to a totally different world than me and my problems was unclassy. It's not like you never made eyes at cute girls before. There is footage."

But he did practice that a lot, being in the same space as her but pretending she existed in a parallel dimension. It took Yuzu a while to realize how ridiculous it was. Ridiculous - and the opposite of what he really wanted. On the memorable day when he finally skated up to casually ask a staged question, Zhenya made a great show of looking back on both sides, as if to make sure it was her he was addressing. 

After that, they gradually settled on being skating partners, mates, ambassadors of the sport. Well, it was better than nothing. But he wanted more. Casual friends wouldn't be enough.

"Living in another world is okay, I guess," Zhenya said back then. "Must be lonely though."

In public, she treated him with pointed deference, the  _ senpai _ of the club. In private, she rarely missed an opportunity to take him down a notch. Never on his career or his numerous obligations, though. Other, human things. 

“Ohhhh, I'm so blinded by the beauty of the Kose international muse! It was a rad photo shoot, very  _ kawaii. _ Nice to see you in decent clothes, if only in pictures.”

“They say you're such a prize, Yuzu, when you can't ever take a girl out to a half-decent restaurant.” 

“You're actually much older than me. It's my innocence people should be protecting.”

She did it on purpose, too, to shoot down elephants in the room - issues he’d rather avoid discussing.

But he envied how she talked to other skaters - freely, unbound. They got all of Zhenya’s vibrant, bubbly personality. Yuzu got a reel of one-liners and stolen snatches of intimacy he would run over in his head for months.

There was an attraction. There was compatibility. He could tell. Sometimes she looked at him wistfully. She steeled herself whenever he invaded her personal space, accidentally or on purpose. In the crowd, they gravitated towards each other, and Yuzu could always sense what part of the rink she was in without looking. When they touched, there were sparks, no matter how well they both controlled this reaction. But the only time he made a move, Zhenya said no.

He wanted more. He wanted it all. He was pacing in his hotel room overcome with this want, deadly tired but too excited to wind down and sleep. She was dancing when he left the banquet - hair flying, skirt flaring, a flash of bright flame attracting people like moths. And she had been dancing with everyone, laughing with everyone, hugging everyone, while he was granted one measly non-verbal hello...

His watch showed 2.14 am when he heard a thud of something sizable falling outside. And a short squeak. A girl's squeak. 

_ Oh no. _ Not again. Not another fan thinking that throwing herself at his feet was somehow romantic. Yuzu thought briefly about calling the reception. But maybe he could just pretend he was not there. Best to assess the possible risks, though.

The eyehole revealed a pair of black high-heeled sandals dangling from a slender manicured hand - the intruder in a long dark coat obviously used his door frame as a crutch to stand up after she tripped.

Yuzu drew a deep breath and threw the door open, making her stagger a few paces backward. He stepped out into the hallway, looking as intimidating as one possibly could in their PJ pants and cat slippers.

"I wanted to leave you a note," Zhenya confessed at once, face carefully nonchalant.

"A  _ love _ note?" Yuzu raised a brow, trying hard to suppress the traitorous flutter in his heart. 

"A thank-you note," she corrected impatiently. "For your… well, hey… it's all there! " Zhenya held out a hand with a folded piece of beige paper, but he ignored it. 

"Whatever happened to texting?" 

"A handwritten note is nicer, don't you think? And I made it in Japanese, and I used an etiquette book, so it  _ is _ nice…"

He pocketed the note without ever looking at its contents, "I'm listening." 

"It's all there, just read…"

"I'm here, you're here - just say it. Not that I know what you want to thank me for, I didn't do anything," he added with a shade of haughty bitterness in his voice. 

She fell silent for some time, chewing on her lip, looking up the words somewhere inside that disheveled head of hers. Finally, she put down her shoes on the carpet and said quietly, "Just this once. And we never talk about it again."

Then she kissed him - on the lips, too. For real. Gently running her fingers through his hair as if he was something fragile and precious. Gently nuzzling her nose against his cheek. Gently kissing his eyelids and his forehead good night. But her gentle slow-burning fire was nevertheless catching, creating a wide roaring resonance inside of him.  _ This girl. His girl.  _ Just this once?

Hers was a good kiss in every possible way - except it was too short. So, who could blame him? He had pretty good reflexes and a couple of years of visual training in this department under his belt. Also, he had a door of his suite conveniently nearby - a perfect surface to lean a girl onto to test her kissing abilities thoroughly. And she kissed back like she skated, like she danced - with abandon. Making each little movement and pause count.

It was only when his hand slid from her deliciously naked shoulder to the door handle to open it, she broke away, startled by the soft click of the lock. Her eyes flew open, and she pleaded, "I need to go, my mom is waiting for me."

_ A pity. _

"But we are definitely talking about this again, yes?" he murmured dazedly, still soaking in her warmth and her scent. 

Zhenya nodded and fled from his arms, all colored cheeks and shining eyes. 

"Sure. When we are not busy with other things. And if I am not married with three kids at the time," she added somewhat smugly, as she picked up her sandals and her coat from the floor. 

He took a swift step towards her, threatening another kiss, and she admitted defeat, "We'll talk. Some day. Soon. Have a nice summer, Yuzu." 

"I'll  _ see  _ you in the summer," he observed. 

She shrugged, "I haven't any contract offers yet." 

"I'll see you anyway."

It was one of those days that held a promise for tomorrow. And he fully intended to take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That will be all ) Thanks for reading, I tried to do my best for you.
> 
> Now, normally, I don't leave finished fics on the site for more than a week. But given the various circumstances of late, I'll let this one steam here until June 1, maybe longer.
> 
> Please, stay safe, optimistic, and healthy. Good things will come. <3


End file.
